


understanding

by artsyspikedhair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family, Dark, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Misogyny, Lowercase, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Abuse, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 20:53:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11193201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artsyspikedhair/pseuds/artsyspikedhair
Summary: harry thought- maybe if he hadn't been locked in the cupboard for so long.ginny thought- maybe if she hadn't been under his control for so long.but there is no thinking now, only doing and undoing.





	understanding

harry goes to detention every night, dutifully. he tells the truth. voldemort is back voldemort is back voldemort is back- 

ron thinks he's mad, after harry accidentally reveals the scar. he doesn't open up about the rest of it- the other scars, in far more intimate places. the scars he made himself. he doesn't open up about the rest of it, the touches and- hermione commented on how harry seemed in pain, once. harry asked her what the bloody hell she was on about. 

harry would open up if he could trust them. but ron and hermione- they had loving homes and no evidence to the contrary that they were good people. they would never understand. 

harry thinks ginny would understand. after all, tom- tom came when ginny was eleven. harry's tormentor had come a year earlier, met him in the cupboard at night. cupboards, chambers- what difference did it make? he thought she'd know how it feels to be tainted. 

and she did. ginny stood up for luna when umbridge insulted the quibbler. somehow, it was only ginny that was saddled with detentions. ginny who had long learned that she had no say in who she spilled her blood for- she couldn't even remember the first night. but her insides hurt, and the second night, she knew- umbridge was using her like tom had, but with no pretense of kindness. ginny was whore and dangerous lie-spiller, ginny was bad and blood traitor and ginny as a villian. ginny had these words written in her own blood as the large fingers swept further and further inside of ginny's robes. ginny thought - maybe this is what i'm useful for 

because while the dursleys' yard went unmowed while harry was hogwarts, while petunia whined about having to cook and vernon bemoaned that freak school, ginny's house was filled with others to take her place. and, sure, she was the only girl. but what are girls good for, she wondered. and the detentions weren't as bad, because at least she was fulfilling her duty. 

harry, harry woke up with muffled screams and phantom hands haunting him. every summer since he left, dudley would use him. and now umbridge was using him for the same bloody purpose- to get off. harry hated it, hated every minute, but he knew that this was what freaks like him got. 

and the years between then and now were hard to differentiate. ginny swore she's seen tom walking in the hallways, voice right behind her. harry- every bathroom stall becomes his cupboard, every dark corridor, thank fuck there aren't any boggarts roaming the halls. harry sees ginny walking out of the pink office as he's about to walk in. 

"you too?" he asked, thinking maybe, maybe he wasn't the only one. 

"i-yes. it's easier if you consider it useful. at least then there's some pleasure." 

"all i've ever been is used, as a house elf, as a fuckhole, and now as dumbledore's bloody war hero. but you're right. there is some pleasure." 

they pass each other with watering eyes, both knowing that no matter what they say, they aren't being useful. they are being pawns in some sick woman's idea of righteousness, of punishment. but they had been pawns before, and the evil you know is better than the happiness you've never been allowed to get used to.


End file.
